


A way out

by femspirk (daisyridley)



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Badly, Canon Compliant, Friends to Lovers, Jim needs a hug, M/M, Pining, Post-Five Year Mission, Slow Burn, Spock needs a hug but he doesn't know, Star Trek I: The Motion Picture, feat: Spock's 8 layer of self-hatred
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 05:10:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9584894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisyridley/pseuds/femspirk
Summary: The mission is ending. Spock finds out (not without dismay) that the Captain is unsure in his regards -as if Spock would not choose to be his First Officer once again, next time they will sail for the stars. And Spock himself doesn't know if that would be the best for him: now more than ever, he's emotional, out of control... yet he knows that if Jim wants him by his side, that is where he will be.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello my dudes! So, here's the thing: I never shut up for a second about the motion picture, so basically I decided to write a fic to explain why Spock left for Vulcan, which was, dare I say, perhaps a little drastic.  
> (Jim Kirk would want you to leave kudos if you like it, just sayin')

Spock is unwell.

It is most disturbing, for he cannot quite establish whether he feels agitated, distressed, upset, or whether he is simply ill. Every state of being that requires subjective naming is unwanted, yet he finds that it would be even more annoying to have caught banal human flu on his last day of a five-year mission.

There isn’t much left to do anymore. The Enterprise is less than 24 hours away from Terra, and everything has already been packed and put away, ready to be transported down to the planet’s surface. Spock’s experiments, his essays, his research; his clothes and few personal belongings. His quarters are empty, now, and soon he will leave, too.

He does not let himself linger on that thought.

He turns around, to take a break from the dull, unimportant data he is receiving and to distract himself from futile reflections –only to find Jim’s eyes fixed on him.

His stomach contracts.

Spock is not particularly fond of peculiarly human figures of speech, but he must admit that there is no better way of describing such an unwanted sensation.

Curiously, his symptoms seem to worsen at the sight.

 _Ah_. He should have known. The Captain is the source of an alarmingly high percentage of his emotions, a percentage he could never bring himself to calculate for fear of finding it higher than he would please. His poor self control is shameful and, above all, disrespectful: the Captain needs an efficient officer, not a man in turmoil.

“Spock?”

“Yes, Captain?” He still possesses enough self control not to show his startle at the sudden invocation. He forces himself to meet the Captain's eyes and hold his gaze, quietly, logically.

“Before I forget… meet me in my quarters at the end of your shift. I’d like to talk to you.”

To any other man, these words would stir a specific response: curiosity, perhaps worry, and especially a glint of expectation, no matter how many times one found himself alone in another man’s cabin. Spock, on the other hand, is free to simply nod, and not to indulge himself in unnecessary emotions. After this, he returns to his instruments and stays focused on those.

Spock believes the knot in his stomach to have finally be gone (the alternative would be inconceivable) when he knocks at the Captain's door an hour and a half later. He does not take time to think that this is, most probably, the last time he will enter those quarters; the last night he will spend in Kirk’s presence, at least on the ship.

But despite not being prone to sentimentality, he must admit that this is the end of an era.

Not a historical era, obviously. One of their life.

“Come in.” The Captain is sitting at his desk, looking at Spock under his eyelashes with his head bowed and his shoulders slumped, as if something was burdening him; he's wearing a half smile, not quite his usual bright one.

“Did you wish to discuss something with me, Captain?”

“Yes, Mr. Spock, have a seat.”

He complies and awaits for his Captain to speak his mind.

Kirk, of course, diverts the conversation before even starting it.

“Would you like something to drink?”

“Captain…”

“Come on, Spock, I know we have to talk, but let's drink something first. One last time.” His smile is contrite, now, so perhaps there is something troubling him. Spock thinks of his previous distress, and realizes that the two are probably connected: or Jim's pained expression wouldn't hit him with such intensity.

“Very well. ...No, Captain, let me,” he stops him, making his way to the replicator and electing to ignore Jim's soft mumble, _one would think after five years you'd call me by name_.

“What beverage do you wish to drink?” He asks first, before replicating his own tea.

“Whatever you're having.”

“You do not enjoy the taste of Vulcan tea,” he protests.

“I need something strong and non-alcoholic, or I won't be responsible for my actions.” Jim's eyes pierce him as he speaks, hard but glowing in the dance of lights and shadows under his furrowed brow.

Spock brings their drink at the desk, and for a few moments they both sit quietly, sipping the overly bitter tea.

After a while, Spock prompts his friend once again: “What did you wish to discuss, Captain?”

Jim lays the mug on the table and takes a deep, hitching breath that has Spock leaning in towards him in an aborted movement, wishing illogically that he could ease his breathing.

“We're at the end of the mission,” Jim begins. He licks his lips, clearly trying to buy time. “So if… in the case that I get assigned to another 5 years mission… I trust you will accept to be there?”

He posed his statement like a question. His whole face is strained; his mouth is twisted. This matter is clearly worrying him, and Spock does not understand the reason. It would look as if Jim feared _rejection_ , which would be absurd. It is no news that they are the best commanding team in the whole of Starfleet; of course, given the conditions to do so, Spock would again be Kirk’s First Officer.

“It would be unwise to break such an effective team.”

Logically, that's the correct answer. But Jim does not look pleased and, after a moment of introspection, Spock realizes that neither is he.

 _Five years_. Five more years with Jim. Spock recalls his previous unwanted emotions, and every single shameful, unrequited feeling that Jim has ever prompted in him. He's not sure he could stand them for another five years.

On the other hand, the idea of serving under a Captain other than Jim Kirk is unbearable.

“But… if you could choose,” Jim is trying to say. “If we could… I don't know, be good even with other people.” (His use of the unreal conditional is most telling, Spock thinks.) “Spock… we're talking about having to decide where to direct the next five years of our lives. I need to know if you're willingly choosing m- _to be_ my First Officer. They're five years, not five days-”

“Jim,” Spock interrupts him. Jim focuses his eyes on him. “I do not understand your need for reassurance. I have more than once expressed my contentment in serving under your command, and when given the possibility… I do not think I will make any other choice.” That is true: Spock knows that he won't be able to deny Jim of his service.

Despite himself.

“Very well, Spock,” Jim says, and he does seem to be reassured. And even Spock finds himself to be relieved.

His future has a nuance of certainty it did not possess before, one Spock didn't know he was seeking. Yes, the five years mission is ending, but he has something to look forward to now, and he has received confirmation that Jim's plans are compatible with -no, _identical_ to- his own.

Jim wants the same.

After a moment, Jim grins at him, and Spock cannot restrain himself from letting his expression soften, because those fond smiles of his are the sign that everything is settled, now. Jim is fine.

“Have you received the invite for the party at the Admiral’s house?” Jim casually asks, then tries to sip his tea and grimaces. “Will you be there?”

“I do not believe it to be an invite as much as a polite order,” he replies, and Jim scoffs a laugh.

“You're right as always, Mr. Spock.”

“I am aware of that.”

Jim stares at him for a second, then downright giggles, clearly trying to suppress his laughs but miserably failing.

Spock finds his breathing to be compromised and forces himself to stabilize a more regular flow. “I fail to see-”

“Don't mind me,” Jim says; “I'm just tired.”

“Then you should rest.” Spock gets up, not wanting to interfere with his Captain's sleeping patterns. “You must be well rested when we land.”

“You're right. Wouldn't want the press to capture me with eye bags, or who knows what they might think we've been doing.”

Spock is certain that this is meant to be a joke, but he does not appreciate the remark.

“Goodnight, Captain.”

Jim's smile falters. “Goodnight, Spock. See you on the bridge.” He looks down at the cup he’s still holding in his hands.

Spock is already at the door. He regrets regarding Jim with such coldness, when he was so preoccupied and eager to be reassured just a few moments ago. He must make up to it.

“Jim.”

“Yes, Spock?” Jim whispers, looking up.

“I will always choose this life, when given the possibility. You must be aware of that,” he adds, trying to convey his dismay at Jim's previous worry.

Jim's face lits up, and his inner light seems to grasp Spock’s sternum and pull him towards him.

“I _am_ aware of that. I just needed to be reminded of it.”

Fighting the urge to smile back, Spock bolts out of the room.

His increasingly poor self control is most concerning. First the distress, then the expectation, then the constant swing of opposite emotions dictated by Jim's, emotions that he followed as if hypnotized by a pendulum. Jim's face and his gentle smiles dance before his face, and he closes his eyes to cast them away, shameful, disrespectful, unprofessional.

He is failing. He, Spock, a Vulcan, is failing.

He is in control of his emotions. He is in control of his emotions. He is in control.

Friendship is acceptable, it is even valued on Vulcan. Captain Kirk is not only his colleague, but also his friend. There is nothing to be ashamed of this, and that, Spock knows. He has been brought up with that knowledge. Thus, he is not ashamed of their friendship.

He is not ashamed.

He must stop thinking about this -it is of no use, anyways.

Meditation is needed. It is necessary to regain control of his mind. Or maybe he should sleep. He hasn't slept in a while; maybe his body needs rest. But Vulcans do not require nearly as much sleep as humans, so it is illogical that he, who was brought up as a Vulcan, should need rest as if he was fully human.

His heightened senses catch Jim's pacing in the adjacent room. Of course he hasn't gone to sleep. The Captain may tease Spock for being stubborn, but he is no less.

Spock suspects him to want to spend as much time as possible in company of the _Enterprise_ ; it should be illogical, to be attached to a machine as if it were a living companion, but when it comes to Kirk, it is not. Jim would do anything to stay on board.

He must wrench himself away from the thought of Kirk before his mind patterns are irredeemably compromised. It is of no use.

Finally, Spock settles for sitting on his mat on the floor and closing his eyes to find some peace.

He does not know when he falls asleep, but he only regains his senses when his alarm clock beeps at 6am and reality chimes back in. His hair is tousled, his clothes are raggedy and his neck is sore, and so he diligently gets ready to fix the imperfections before going to Jim-- _going to the bridge_.

Docking procedures are about to start -they are no more than a couple of hours away -and he must be there to supervise everything.

The Captain is tense when the ship begins docking. Spock sees that he is trying to feel pleased at the sight of Earth, but his grin is bittersweet and his jaw is set. Spock can sense his torment; but there is nothing he can do.

The mission is over.

In the final moments, the Captain asks Lieutenant Uhura to open a ship-wide channel to give his final words to the crew.

He thanks his people. He makes them hear what they want to hear -he voices his genuine pride for them, and his sorrow for those who were lost. When the channel is closed, he personally thanks his chiefs on the bridge, and they applaud. He grins at his friends. For a moment, everyone is cheerful.

Jim smiles at Spock and bows once more -the gentlest motion, the quickest bat of his eyelashes at his First Officer, as if he wanted to convey something more than a simple thanks. Or, perhaps, Spock is putting too much thought into it. He raises an eyebrow and looks away, and he can sense Jim’s amusement at his reaction.

But the amusement is swiftly gone; and Spock hardly believes it to have been there before, judging by the Captain’s attitude.

It takes an hour and a half for every member of the crew to disembark -everyone must beam to the base orbiting around Earth, where shuttle crafts are waiting to bring them to the planet’s surface.

Slowly, the bridge empties. Captain Kirk does not move from his chair.

Spock watches everyone brush their instruments with light fingers, bidding farewell to their stations. Kirk is looking at the front window.

“See you there, Captain,” Sulu says before heading to the transporter room. Kirk distractedly nods.

Doctor McCoy is ready to follow him, but he stops to spare one last glance to the Captain.

“Here we go, then,” he mumbles. He is clearly expecting Kirk to stand up, but he does not move from his position. The doctor sighs. “Jim? It’s time.”

Spock takes a step forward, wanting to intervene, wanting to tell the doctor that Jim needs his time to say goodbye, that Jim is suffering, but he does not know how to phrase his thoughts coherently and halts mid-action. Nobody seems to notice.

“Jim,” the doctor repeats with a hint of hastiness in his voice.

“In a minute. You go, I’m coming.”

McCoy rolls his eyes, but leaves-he understands.

Spock tries to follow him out of the room -after all, it is time to go, but the doctor stares him down with fire in his blue eyes, and once again Spock stops. The doctor nods with his eyebrows raised, and makes his exit with one more sigh.

After he’s gone, Spock walks down the stairs and once more claims his place at Jim’s side. Jim does not look at him, but acknowledges his presence by closing his eyes for a moment and clenching his hand.

The two men look at the front window. This time, there are no stars before them: only the mechanical doors of the base.

“Ship’s empty,” Jim murmurs.

“We are here,” Spock corrects him.

For the first time, Jim looks at him. A grin blossoms on his face.

“Mr. Spock,” he whispers, “your logic doesn’t cease to astound me.”

Spock cannot determine whether he is mocking him or not, so he simply settles for raising an eyebrow at him in mild disbelief.

Seeming to have forgotten his melancholy, Jim jolts out of the chair (Spock suspects that he wouldn't be able to get out of it in any other way).

“Shall we go?” Jim asks. The volume of his voice is almost regular, but still toned down; he’s still unwell.

Spock nods.

With one last glance at the front window, they leave the bridge; and they leave the Enterprise, with the hope of coming back one day.

They do not know that such a day will not come for 2.8 years.

The Captain is tense when they land. Spock sees him halt when he sets his feet on the surface of his home planet, like a sailor after too many months by sea.

Jim is unwell, and there is nothing Spock can do to ease his pain.

Then there are chores to attend to, documents to sign, tests to run, people to greet, and Spock loses sight of his friend, and when he does manage to catch glimpses of him, Jim is always tired, rubbing his eyes or running a hand through his hair. A day passes in official duties and dead time where nobody talks, always confined in dull offices, feet on solid ground.

When night falls, Starfleet provides Spock with an apartment. Most crewmembers have their homes to return to, but not the First Officer and his Captain. The two of them lie among the stars -it is not rhetoric, it is a fact. They don’t need a place on earth when they wouldn’t spend time in it anyways.

They are escorted out of the main building and across a park, faintly lit by moonlight, to a series of short terraced buildings looming in front of them.

As they find out, one of the buildings hosts apartments kindly provided to Starfleet officers. Spock infers that most of them must be occupied by non-human personnel, such as Deltans, or Andorians, and…

...or Vulcans. Non-human personnel, such as himself. Captain Kirk is the only human in question.

Pebbles scrape against their shoes. Spock pensively looks at the path, blocking out outside inputs save the noise his feet make on the stones, for he does not know what to think, or what to feel, and he’d rather think nothing than reflect on his own inadequate confusion.

Sometimes he looks at Jim, who’s deep in his own thoughts; he’s painfully ready to spring whenever he sees him halt, but he quickly recovers each time.

 

Once they are inside, in front of Spock’s anonymous doorstep, Jim finally looks at him, and Spock catches sight of smile on his face.

“Well, Mr. Spock, have a good night.”

“And you, Captain.”

He expects them to part; but instead of heading to his own door, Jim steps forward until they find themselves almost face to face.

His eyes are liquid gold in the fain corridor lights, the whites tainted red as if he’d cried. Spock knows it to be impossible, but it looks like the lines on his face have dramatically deepened in the past few days.

Their proximity last for mere seconds, until Jim lowers his head and steps back, frowning. 

“Sorry. See you tomorrow.”

He doesn’t reply. He simply nods, still as a figure of salt, and waits for him to get inside before he does the same.

The apartment suits Spock just fine. It is basic but comfortable, surely designed for a high-ranking officer, but one who will only spend a few weeks there. This last thought makes his breath catch, and he corrects it as quickly as possible. But he cannot ignore the extent of his involuntary deduction: either Starfleet intends to make him move to a more suitable accommodation in a short while, or… or he is meant to fly off again sooner than he originally believed.

They will soon be back--

His suitcase has already been deposited right next to the entrance, and Spock brusquely picks it up and takes it to the bedroom to unpack.

He is not used to such large, spacious quarters. He is not used to having his own kitchen, or his own bathroom. He is not used to windows and wooden floors.

The unfamiliar noises of the city are distracting -he's not used to blocking those out, being accustomed only to the roaring of the engines and the chattering in the corridors.

He wonders what Jim is doing. They were conceded one night of rest, but they have to be at Starfleet HQ at 0800 hours for a meeting, and Jim needs to sleep now if he doesn’t want to be tired in the morning.

Yet Spock knows that Jim will not rest well: the bed will be too soft and unfamiliar; the room will feel unwelcoming. For the first time in five years, Jim will be alone.  
Spock wishes--

The replicator offers a vast gamma of food and beverages, and Spock is quite delighted to find certain dishes he could not reproduce on the Enterprise -one of the very few advantages of being earthbound.

He eats quietly.

He is worried.

Jim needs his space, and he deserves some time for himself after taking care of the 400 people aboard the ship. He needs quiet, sugared tea, a healthy meal; a bathroom of his own (not a shared one); he needs warmth and the gentle breeze coming from the sea. He needs to put on his civilian clothes and read a pleasurable book instead of falling asleep on unsigned forms and other dull paperwork.

Noticing his own unacceptable concern, he blocks out these thoughts and focuses on his schedule to avoid their intrusion. The meeting will probably be finished by lunch -Jim will insist on having lunch together at a nearby bar, unless he’s already planned to meet with doctor McCoy, in which case Spock will excuse himself and avoid the small talk. The press conference is at 1800 hours, and then there'll be the so-called party, which will merely be an occasion for everyone to dress up formally and slap each other's backs with unnecessary vigor, and for Starfleet to show off their hero as if he were a trophy. James Kirk is a celebrity, by now, and High Command will certainly not pass the opportunity to bask in the light of his popularity. Spock would avoid the event but, as Kirk’s second in command, his absence would be noticeable, and it would raise further questions and place even more weight on Jim's shoulders, and Spock does not wish to do an injustice to his friend.

After dinner he attempts meditation, but his mind keeps slipping away. It is understandable, after all: it’s been a fatiguing day, and perhaps the most important in their career so far.

On the overall, the mission was successful. It was not spotless, but they did avoid death more than once. He rapidly recalls some of their most dangerous days, some of their most reckless actions, and he knows that they’re alive by a whisker.

Many crewmembers will be rewarded with promotions; he, Spock, will not, because he’s not seeking one. He has long ago realized that his role must be that of the science officer -that is his destiny.

And even though he wishes he could cleanse and strengthen himself, he knows he can’t abandon Jim, not when he has specifically asked him to be his second in command. Jim is his superior officer, and Spock must fulfill his request.

Even at the cost of being thoroughly ashamed of himself.

It is a miserable way of living, but there are no other alternatives.

Someone knocks at the door.

 _Jim_.

It must be the Captain, because it could be nobody else. He swiftly gets up from his bed, takes a deep breath, and opens the door.

He is faced with a distressed Jim Kirk with a furrowed brow and heavy eyelids.

“Am I bothering you?” he asks in a grumble.

“You are not.” He steps aside to let him in, wondering what brought him here. “Captain, it late in the night. You should be asleep.”

“Can’t sleep,” he mumbles. “It’s all too quiet. I can’t even hear the city.”

Jim is standing in the middle of the hallway, in a manner that some would describe as that of a haunted wolf. His shoulders are slumped, his head is bowed, and he’s observing his surroundings with a glacial stare.

“Jim, you are not okay.”

He exhales. “Does it show much?” Despite his misery, he’s fighting a smile.

“Yes, it does.”

He’s smiling, now. “Mind if I sit?” he asks.

“I do not.”

They sit side by side on the sofa. Jim is silent for a while. He’s bent over, hands intertwined over his knees.

“Were you meditating?”

Attempting to. “Yes, I was.”

“Sorry for coming here. I’m not thinking straight.”

“Please, do not apologize.”

“Don’t. I’m troubling you.”

“You never do.”

They look at each other. Spock wishes he could just reach out to him and ease his pain away. Maybe he wouldn’t feel so guilty if he could help him.

“Captain… do you wish to take my bed? I haven’t touched it.”

Jim stares at him. “Would it matter?”

“Logically, it wouldn’t. But maybe it would to you.”

He snorts a laugh. “Enough with the mockery, Mr. Spock. Thank you for the offering, but I think it would be better if I went back to my room. I just… I think I just needed to see you for a moment. And I promise I’ll try to sleep.”

He doesn’t understand what Jim wants; he doesn’t know how to approach him, these days.

“Very well. I will see you tomorrow, then.”

“Sure. You rest too, Spock.” With one last smile, he closes the door behind himself, leaving Spock puzzled and confused about the whole matter.

He settles for simply lying on his bed, his hands intertwined over his stomach, and waits for the sun to rise.

The meeting with High Command is, to say the least, useless and dull. Everyone has already listened to the Captain’s many log entries and read his reports; this is a purely formal way to wrap everything up -a ritualistic course of actions, and therefore completely illogical.

Spock is seldom interpellated; when he speaks, he does that with punctuality and brevity. Nobody mentions their next assignment and he doesn’t bring it up, assuming it will be discussed on a later date.

When the meeting ends, both him and Jim wait for the room to empty. He doesn’t know if Jim is doing it on purpose, but eventually the two of them are left alone.

For the first time, Spock is free to properly look at his friend.

“You do not look well rested,” he immediately points out with a frown.

“I’m not used to the mattress.” It is a feeble excuse, and the Captain knows it.

“I trust you will rest before this evening’s conference.”

Kirk shrugs. “I suppose I will. Did you sleep?”

“Vulcans--”

“Don’t require sleep, right. One day I’ll learn.” He smiles broadly, now, and takes a step closer to Spock, clasping his shoulder with a firm hand. “Or maybe you’ll learn that sleep can be enjoyable. We’ll see.”

“I find the former option as likely as the latter.” Not the brightest response he could find, but Jim’s sudden closeness took him aback. And Jim still laughs.

“Listen, I was thinking… we’re going to the conference together, aren’t we?”

“Of course.”

“Great. I’d avoid it, but at least there will be an after party. I don’t know about you, Mr. Spock, but I’m already missing our good old doctor.” Jim grins at him, enjoying his own teases, and Spock raises an eyebrow.

“The feeling is certainly not shared,” he says, but the truth is that being alone has been strange. “But I will be pleased to meet the rest of our former shipmates.” It’s been the wrong thing to say, because Jim twists his mouth with bitterness -perhaps at the use of the word “former”.

“Yeah. Who knows when we’ll see them again.” Jim’s head suddenly snaps up, and the smile is back on his face. “See you tonight, then.”

“See you tonight, Captain.”

He parts from his friend wishing things were simpler.

When he gets home, he still has four spare hours to get ready. He feels like he’s bursting with energy -it’s been ages since he last had nothing to work on; no forms to sign, no experiments, no researches, nobody to help.

He chooses to cook. Cooking is logical -it is science; it’s finding the exact dosage of compounds to maximize the taste.

He never cooked much, mostly because there was no chance to do it on the ship, but also because he doesn’t require as much food as humans do. But his mother used to eat twice a day, and there were always boiling pots in the house.

It’s science, yes. But it’s human -it’s something humans find pleasure in doing.

Spock tries to ignore that as much as possible.

He thinks that maybe he could offer Jim dinner once the conference and the party are over. He could cook, and leave the dishes here, and mention the matter to Jim on due time. Jim will probably be happy to spend some time alone with him. They could eat dinner together and then play chess, or talk, and when Jim is tired he’d offer him a hot beverage, and watch as he blissfully falls asleep on his sofa.

It sounds like a well-thought plan.

At 1600 hours, dinner is ready. He takes a shower to wash away the smell of spice and boiled vegetables, and he lets water stream down his body in soothing rivulets, conceding himself a moment to enjoy the feeling before he snaps back to reality and quickly dries off.

The Captain is perfectly punctual. When Spock opens the door he’s smiling with excitement, but he still doesn’t have Spock fooled.

“You are nervous,” he says, stepping back to let his friend in

“Good evening to you, too,” Jim laughs. “You'd be nervous, too.”

“Answering questions cannot be worse than making life-or-death decisions,” he points out.

“Well, Mr. Spock, that makes me feel much better.”

He is blocking Spock’s way to the hanger dress, and for a moment they stand ridiculously close as Spock reaches past him to get his coat, and he doesn't move.

“You ready to go?”

“I am.”

They cross the hallway silently, both immersed in their own thoughts, but they're already talking before they step into the elevator.

“Did you read the press release?” the Captain asks.

“I…”

He _forgot_.

He had an entire afternoon, and he didn't think of reading documents of importance for tonight, because he was too busy with his pots and pans and--

“It wasn't required,” Jim laughs, but isn't his voice strained? Isn't he appalled by Spock’s forgetfulness? “I was just asking. You know, to make conversation.”

“I see.”

They fall into silence once again, and Spock sees Kirk tapping his foot on the elevator floor.

“Jim.”

“Yes?”

“You know you are qualified to answer their questions.”

Jim lowers his eyes. “I know, Spock, I just… it's something else. Don't worry.”

Spock squeezes his eyes, feeling a jolt of disgust running down his spine for jumping to conclusions when it wasn't his place to inquire.

“I apologize.”

“What? No, you're not at fault. I am worried about the conference, only… not just that. Do you ever… feel out of place?”

The elevator doors open and they step into the hall, and Jim takes his silence as an answer.

“I mean, I didn't mean that--of course I know it was difficult to adapt--"

It is Spock’s turn, unbelievably, to reassure his friend in this conversation made of false steps and misunderstandings. “No, Jim, I understand.”

The Captain leaves out a breath.

Fortunately for Spock’s state of mind, they do settle into less dangerous subjects during their ride to the venue. They haven't, it appears, forgotten how to chat just because they're not on the ship anymore.

When they arrive at the main HQ building they are immediately greeted by the staff, who leads them to the conference room. They sit, they drink their water, they talk with the few Admirals present. They try to calm down their nerves.

Well, Kirk does -he will be the one to speak, after all, while Spock is simply there to make an appearance.

However, it seems that the Captain’s tension has somehow infected him, which is absolutely illogical, yet bearing some truth.

The first part of the conference proceeds swiftly, with Kirk reading prescribed statements about the mission, its importance, its successes. Spock sees that he's calm, now, focused on his task. He is a man of action; he needs something to do, no matter how small: if the challenge is to talk in front of a hundred strangers, then he will take it and follow through and perform at his best in front of these people.

And as long as he's the one to talk, everything is fine. The trouble begins with the journalists’ questions.

The press is making the Captain uncomfortable. Whilst he keeps stressing the role of his crewmembers, the journalists will try to highlight his role only. The tactic is quite clear: they are forcing a role upon the Captain, that of the mighty superhero. Spock is familiar to enough with such a figure to know that it doesn’t have friends and companions as much as it has sidekicks -people inferior to him who merely serve him to shine.

But the Captain doesn’t seem to accept such a role. His replies hide a wit that Spock very much recognizes, one that helps him distort the questions to give answers more keen to him.

During another one of his responses, Kirk smiles all of a sudden. Following his gaze, Spock sees doctor McCoy standing at the other side of the room, presumably here to show his support. For once, Spock appreciates his presence.

Soon, it is over; but not soon enough, as a sense of dread has settled into Spock’s intestines. He realizes, with embarrassment, that he's afraid: afraid that the Captain's involuntary metamorphosis into Starfleet’s shining gem is not yet complete, although he cannot fathom what could be next.

Gloomy, he walks behind his friend with his arms secured behind his back, eyes fixed on the ground.

There is nothing to be afraid of, in fact. His worry is but an exaggeration, simply due to a slight uncertainty in his future. It is a despicable sentiment, especially in such glorious hours for his superior officer.

It is only when they both get in the car that he notices the sweat still lingering on Kirk’s temples.

“Are you alright?” he inquires before he can properly control his thoughts.

Jim grins. “Why, Mr. Spock, I already found myself in life-or-death situation multiple times.”

“You did, but those journalists were, figuratively speaking, devouring you alive.”

He chuckles. “They were, weren’t they? Thank God it’s over. Come on, Spock, let’s subject ourselves to this dreadful party.”

The car trip is relatively short, and Spock wishes it lasted longer. There is something incredibly comforting in it, although he cannot exactly grasp its origins. Yet he cherishes these few minutes in the comfortable backseat of a car, dimly lit by streetlights, with Jim but a breath from him. They do not talk, but they don't have to.

Spock feels… he feels soothed by his friend's company, as if Jim’s mere proximity was a gentle caress down his spine.

It is foolish. He must not linger on this nonsensical thought.

Guests are gathering in front of the house when Kirk and Spock arrive. They are both welcomed with great profusions, although (thankfully, he wouldn't be able to bare that) everyone remembers that Vulcans are touch sensitives, and nobody is so careless to try and hug him or shake his hand.

Spock notice that Kirk’s smiles are slightly more heartfelt than before, although he still does appear to be stiff and distressed. This time, however, he cannot stay by his side to check on him, for they're both soon lured into separate conversations.

After an exchange of formal salutes, Spock is led inside the house by a fellow Vulcan, who claims to be interested in a particular element in one of Spock’s research. Knowing said research at heart, Spock lets himself speak as he keeps scanning the room not to lose sight of Jim. It is only when his interlocutor shows signs of veiled dismay that he realizes the utter rudeness of his behavior and devotes his focus to the conversation, definitely losing track of his friend in the crowd.

He catches sight of him by accident half an hour later, sees that he is still vexed by some journalists. But he will not make the same defect twice, and he forces himself to divert his eyes.

He does not know how much time has passed when he finally frees himself and finds himself with his back against a wall with a glass of water in his hands. He observes, detached, the other guests; they are all gathered in small groups, chatting, laughing, most of them tipsy from the alcohol. They are high ranking Starfleet officers, members of the Federation government, ambassadors and, oddly, journalists -Spock is not quite sure what to make of their presence.

He is so focused on his observations that he does not see Jim approaching him until he speaks.

“Here you are, Spock!”

“Captain. I--” Taken aback, he doesn't know what to say, but Kirk immediately fills in the void.

“Listen, can I talk to you for a second? Not here. In private.”

He's smiling -genuinely, this time- but he's tense. Spock sees it in the way his brow furrows and his fingers tap on his leg.

“Of course, Captain. Perhaps we could go outside.”

“No, not outside, believe me. I was there. We can search for a room in here.”

Spock wouldn't be prone to snooping around a superior officer’s house, but he still follows Kirk’s lead. Careful not to be intercepted by anyone, they exit the living room and delve into the mansion’s corridors, peeking through ajar doors until they find an empty closet. Kirk inspects it, then closes the door behind himself once Spock has followed him inside.

He briefly leans on it, refusing to turn around and face his friend.

Spock cannot see his face, and that unsettles him deeply.

“Captain, I'm afraid that you will find me boring if I keep asking if you're alright.”

He chuckles, finally turning around. Yet his expression is still unreadable -for once, Jim is not wearing his heart on his sleeve. “We're off the ship, Spock, stop calling me Captain. And yes, I am alright now.”

He closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath.

“Spock,” he says, looking at him. “Spock, I've been thinking… neither of us could care less about the party over there, so will you just come home with me?”

There is silence. For a moment, Spock wonders why Jim was so reticent, so distressed, if really this only was the simple question he indented to pose. Then he sees that Jim has outstretched an arm between them and is waiting for Spock to take his hand.

The sight is unbelievable. Spock squeezes his eyes in utter doubts, but it's there, Jim’s hand is there, in the few inches separating their bodies.

“What is this?” he blurts out, completely uncontrolled.

“It's an offering, Spock.”

Of course. Of course, humans do this, they touch their closest friends in such ways.

But Jim knows Spock is not human. He knows he doesn't do this.

“You-- you must be aware of the significance of such a gestu--"

“I _am_ , _that's_ why I'm offering.”

A pause. Silence. Spock’s mind doesn't seem to be working -it is as if his entire psyche has crystallized into a single fraction of a second, and has forgotten everything that surrounded it.

Then Jim retreats his hand. “Look...nevermind. Forget this happened.” He turns around. Reaches the door. “There's a reason why I waited ‘til…”

“Jim, wait.”

He doesn't have time to reflect in these crucial moments. He simply lets himself speak and take a step forward to stop his friend before he leaves.

This time, when Jim turns around, hope is evident on his face. His eyes are wide, his lips parted; he seems to have trouble swallowing.

Jim. The brave, clever, unpredictable human with hazel eyes and golden hair, and a golden smile that blossoms on his face with pure, unabashed joy as soon as he manages to read Spock’s expression. Jim took the leap and is waiting for an answer, and he knows what the answer will be, now, but he wants Spock to be the one who act.

Spock takes a final step forward, and their proximity sets his nerves ablaze. Their lips crash onto each other, and his whole body aches with the need to feel, to hold. His hands move to the soft flesh of his arms, to his round shoulders, to the wide expanse of his back, to pull him even closer. Jim's familiar features take shape under his frantic touch.

Jim's breaths are heavy against his chest, his roaring heartbeat resounds in his thorax, and Spock is overwhelmed with the need to be closer and closer, to defy any physical burden separating them.

Their lips move sloppily, unacquainted with each other but learning, exploring, for an unfathomable period of time.

Until they hear someone calling for Jim.

At first, they try to ignore the voice. They are too starved for contact, too caught up by their newfound intimacy.

But the voice persistent, and after a while they realize it's doctor McCoy’s, and they break the kiss. 

 

Spock never found McCoy's presence so annoying.

With one last heartfelt smile to Spock, Jim opens the door.

“Yes?”

The doctor is just a few meters away. “I fucking knew you two were here. Jim, they want you back there.”

Jim waves a hand in a vague gesture. “Tell ‘em I'm coming.”

“They want you _now_.” He sounds angry; definitely distressed.

“Can't you tell them we've already gone home?”

“They know your car's still here. Just _go_ , for God’s sake.”

With a heavy sigh, Jim exists the room. Spock is about to follow him, but the doctor carelessly puts a hand on his chest. “You've got to wait. You can't just go back in there together.”

He is right, and Spock knows that he's perfectly aware of what they were doing. He regrets not leaving sooner, as soon as Jim suggested it. The sense of dread is back, now, accompanied by McCoy’s rough expression.

He looks at Jim, and nods. He nods back. Smiles once more. His cheeks are red, his pupils blown wide; it would be easy to expose what he was doing, but Spock is too mesmerized to actually care about it.

He watches them leave. He elects to wait for a couple of minutes before following them.

He kissed Jim. And he knows that maybe he should have done it before, because there was nothing more he could hope for.

But was it right? His whole mind is jammed, now; his thought processes are severely impeded, and emotions are roaring through his whole body, and he's not sure he can accept this. He spent five years trying to prevent himself from feeling so deeply for his Captain, and now his efforts have been rendered useless.

He has failed.

Yet… yet Jim wants them to be together. He offered to _go home_ together. And although their home is the Enterprise, perhaps they won't feel so out of place in each other’s company, while they wait to embark again. Jim could even start to feel better… and if he really needs Spock as his First Officer... Perhaps Spock could overcome his shame at such a dishonorable course of actions for Jim’s benefit.

He is ashamed of himself, yes. But he has no other choice than to accept the situation and make the best out of it, no matter what cost. He will suppress his shame for Jim.

He hears clapping. The two minutes haven't passed, but he wants to know what is happening, so he goes back to the living room.

People are clasping Jim on his back, taking photos, cheering. Yet, Jim's smile is rigid.

Spock cannot reach him -he is too far away from him, surrounded by too many people.

“Mr. Spock!”

He turns around, and he's never been more relieved at Lieutenant Uhura’s sight.

“Lieutenant. Would you… could you indicate the source of such an outburst?”

She looks surprised. “You weren't here?” she exclaims. “The Captain has just be offered a promotion. They want to make him an Admiral.” Her tone is strained. She knows what this means.

“I… excuse me.”

She watches him with sympathy as he stumbles outside the house without even looking at where he's going.

He leaves.

The promotion isn't official, but it was made in front of the press. Jim can't refuse it. _That_ is why the journalists were invited.

He should have known.

Starfleet is not risking its golden boy again in some remote section of space, not when he's so popular and acclaimed; that's why they're making him an Admiral. Admirals do not command starships. They are planet bound.

Jim will be an Admiral. He will not fly the _Enterprise_ again. He will not need a First Officer.

Reality comes crashing down on him. From now on, Spock will be an inconvenience for Jim's career, and an emotional burden once he leaves for the stars again. There will be no place for him in Jim’s life.

What he did was unwise, disrespectful, illogical. He was blinded by his own feelings and failed to notice evident signs and come up with a deduction that would have spared him such a situation.

Spock will be forced to fly away again under another Captain, someone inferior to Kirk, and move on with his life and career as if it made a shred of sense.

Suddenly, there is a way out. If Jim doesn’t need him anymore, then he doesn’t have to stay here and be consumed by his own shame.

 

Two days later, he resigns from Starfleet and leaves for Vulcan.

**Author's Note:**

> so... yeah. If this goes completely unnoticed I will never have the strength to finish chapter two - the reunion, so please give this poor soul some validation. and maybe come and say hi on tumblr? I'm @femspirk.  
> one last thing: english is not my first language so THANK YOU @ my beta dee for telling me when my words didn't make sense.


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